


out of step, off my feet

by valryon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Next Generation, Healer Teddy Lupin, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Quidditch Player James Sirius Potter, Shower Sex, a little angst if you squint, really teddy just wants to take care of james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valryon/pseuds/valryon
Summary: Teddy wraps his arms around James tightly, letting himself feel his warmth and the unmistakable sound of his heart beating strong and loud against his own chest. He’s so grateful for the way he can hold James like this after a match like that, instead of walking next to him on a stretcher.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 102
Collections: JeddyFest_2020





	out of step, off my feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldenTruth813](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/gifts), [mapyourstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapyourstars/gifts).



> **prompt:** james is an amazing quidditch player but also pretty reckless and teddy often wavers between adoration, arousal and fear watching james play. after a particularly dangerous match that leaves james a little bruised up but victorious, teddy needs to reassure himself that james is fine.
> 
> after years and years of starting and never finishing fics, for jeddyfest and for other things, i finally completed one! my struggle with endings is over! (just kidding, it'll probably be back like, tomorrow).
> 
> thank you to the jeddyfest mods for hosting such a great yearly event, and to all the wonderful prompters who inspired me! the jeddy fandom is a talented bunch and i'm happy to finally be making a contribution.
> 
> to janel: your prompts are always so amazing and inspiring, as is your writing, so i sincerely hope this fic does your prompt justice!
> 
> to carisa: my wonderful beta i could not have done this without. thank you for putting up with me being super excited and impatient and for giving me the honest feedback i needed to write like a thousand more words. you are the best, and when i can hug you, it will be the most ridiculous, long ass hug.
> 
> to summer: i've already expressed my extreme amount of sap for how appreciative i am for you, your friendship, and your james, but i'll say it again. my love of jeddy has only gotten this nuts because of our writing, our million aus and our screaming about the 50,000 headcanons we both have in our head about these two idiots. i love you so much, and i'm so excited for this and all the things to come!
> 
> title from _angel_ by finneas.

It’s a rival match, and it’s clear from the start of it that the Wasps have brought their A-game. Their beaters don’t seem to be missing any targets and the chasers somehow look twice as large as the Arrows from where Teddy’s sitting. But he doesn’t pay much attention to them, his eyes entirely glued to James as he flits around the stadium—he’s gorgeous as ever in his silvers and blues.

Teddy knows quidditch is dangerous. He’s known that his whole life, and even more so once he’d started training to be a healer. He’d played for two years back in his Hogwarts days, not to mention the summers spent in the Potters’ backyard playing match after match well into the evening, filling the warm nights with laughter and a fair bit of cursing.

But professional quidditch is different. The players are bigger, faster, there’s more on the line, and the hours of training are much more grueling—everyone’s a lot more prone to injury.

Teddy’s never cared to know exactly _how_ dangerous, which is a factor in why he’d strategically avoided training on the sports-related injuries floor at St. Mungo’s. The last thing he needs is someone he loves laying on a gurney in his ward, and with the way quidditch practically runs in Potter/Weasley blood, he knows it wouldn’t be entirely unlikely.

But while professional quidditch is dangerous, it’s certainly thrilling, and no one’s more thrilling to watch than James.

There’s nowhere James is more confident than when he’s up in the air, and it’s so obvious in the way that he flies. He’s fast and daring, blowing past players seasons ahead of him, fearless in every tight turn and deep nose-dive. He’s wild and unpredictable, much like the James Teddy knows and loves when he’s off the pitch. He’s absolutely breathtaking, and at every match Teddy’s barely aware anyone else is playing—he can’t tear his eyes away from James, worried and proud and a little aroused all at the same time. 

Being the son of two incredibly talented players, no one was all that surprised when James was recruited at 17, and just six short months later, was on the starting roster for matches. And two years later, his name still never leaves the Monday morning _Prophet_ ; highlights about the weekend’s matches always include some mention of him. Teddy’s been with him through it all, and his pride never wavers.

But he knows firsthand that it’s not without effort. He’s witnessed the ice baths and the aches and pains James goes through practically daily, wrists and ankles he’s mended himself, and so very many near-misses James almost always dismisses as _nothing, Teddy_. But he knows better. As exciting as it is to watch James play, he’s _reckless_ , far less concerned about his own safety than he should be. It’s the daring Gryffindor in him, and there are times when it’s a little hard for Teddy to handle.

He might be the only one in the whole stadium noticing his flinches every time a bludger whips past his body, nearly hitting him, and every grimace of pain he tries to hide when the Wasps chasers shove against him to try and knock the quaffle out of his arms. It takes a lot more than some strong muscles to get James to drop a quaffle—it’s only happened once—but to Teddy, the struggle in James is obvious.

He seems to shake it off every time, adrenaline pumping in his veins and narrowing his focus to the match, oblivious as always to the toll it’s taking on him. He forgets himself, loses himself in the match, and Teddy’s on the edge of his seat to watch.

It feels like they have to struggle every point they get, obvious to Teddy and everyone else watching that the Wasps aren’t exactly playing clean. It’s what everyone’s come to expect at a rival match, but it certainly takes away from the fairness of it, and Teddy’s not the only one to feel that way if the boos from the stands every time a player takes a hit are anything to go by.

For most of the match, James seems to just barely miss hits, his signature sharp turns and quick moves keeping him out of harm’s way. But late in the match, he starts to get tired, obvious from the way his movements slow down, the way he has to focus more on keeping his balance, and it’s particularly hard to watch as the Wasps take advantage, hurling bludgers his way. None of them make a real hit—James is far too talented even exhausted to let that happen—but they graze his shoulders and his arms, and Teddy feels his blood boil. He knows the other teams sometimes like to target him because he’s new and famous.

Finally, the Arrows catch the snitch, and Teddy feels the whole stadium let out a collective sigh of relief as the horns blow signaling the end, before they erupt into a trumpeting of cheers. Teddy’s anger is quickly overshadowed by his concern for James, losing sight of him as everyone gets to their feet. But it doesn’t matter much—Teddy knows exactly where he’ll be after the match.

He doesn’t linger for a second in the stands, hurrying down the steps and around the bend of the stadium to the grassy exit outside the changing room, where the press are already set up and a small group of fans is growing larger. Teddy stops a few paces behind them, where he always waits for James, his eyes trained on the swiveling door where he knows the players will spill out in a matter of minutes.

He’s happy and proud of James the way he always is, win or not, but he also won’t really relax until he can get James in his arms, his fingers twitching where they’re crossed under his biceps.

The players start to emerge to camera flashes and yelling, recorders shoved in their faces, and fans with photos and quick-quills begging for an autograph. It seems to take forever until Teddy finally spots that familiar head of messy dark auburn curls, James’s smile bright and breathtaking when he looks around and spots Teddy.

Instead of stopping to sign autographs or talk to the press, James brushes right past them and makes a beeline for Teddy. And Teddy sort of hates himself for how he’s feeling because of the clear excitement and exhilaration written all over James’s face, the adrenaline high of a win giving him a pretty flush high on his cheekbones that, under other circumstances, Teddy would want to kiss. But that’s not what his eyes are drawn to right now, to the bruises he can see already blooming under what skin James has showing.

He’s able to put that out of his mind for a moment as James practically leaps into his arms for a hug, and Teddy easily catches him, pressing a grateful smile into the side of his neck. He wraps his arms around James tightly, letting himself feel his warmth and the unmistakable sound of his heart beating strong and loud against his own chest. He’s so grateful for the way he can hold James like this after a match like that, instead of walking next to him on a stretcher.

They finally pull away after probably too long, given the eyes watching them, but it’s too short for Teddy. He’s reluctant to let go of James at all. But then James is looking up at him with his heart-stopping grin.

“We won!” He says, and Teddy’s stupidly endeared as always by his excitement and enthusiasm.

“I know.” He brings a hand up to brush away an unruly curl and leave his hand to rest on his chin, “I’m so proud of you, Jamie.”

James’s face seems to soften at that, and he leans up for a kiss, which Teddy easily gives him. It’s soft and sweet and lingers, maybe a little longer than what’s appropriate for a very public display of affection. And there’s a camera flash or two, which instinctively makes Teddy’s stomach churn a little. Though the rumors and falsehoods about them in the papers have long since died down after two years together, the attention still makes Teddy a little uncomfortable. But it’s not attention making him tense today.

James, intuitive as he is, picks up on Teddy’s mood, and he looks up at him with a curious glance once they finally pull away. Teddy swallows hard.

“Later,” he says under his breath, and James nods at him, understanding.

James looks over at the gaggle of press and fans, and then back at Teddy. He’s just as reluctant to go as Teddy is to let him. But it’s in James’s contract to be friendly with the public, and Teddy knows that. Publicity is part of the job. Maybe one of the more unpleasant parts, but something that has to be done.

“Come right home when you’re done, don’t bother with a shower,” Teddy says.

It’s not an unusual request, sometimes Teddy likes it when James is all sweaty and smelly after a match or practice, likes to press that scent into their mattress and make their bedroom stink of it. But the intent is different here, and the look on James’s face lets Teddy know he understands that.

James gives him another nod. “I won’t be long.”

Teddy finally lets go of him completely, watching the silver cape of his kit flap behind him. He’s happily received by the press, and Teddy smiles at the way he turns to the fans first, giving the young witches screaming for him a field day. He’s still smiling at that image when he disapparates home.

The flat Teddy shares with James is small but homey, a charming mix of both of their belongings that after over a year of living together, Teddy no longer thinks of as his and James’s, but _theirs_.

He busies himself with picking up around the flat while he waits for James, putting away clothes on their bedroom floor and straightening up the books on the shelf in their sitting room. His mind’s not focused on the tasks though, tense now that James is away from him again. It feels almost ridiculous to be so clingy, but he can’t help it.

James is young and energetic, reckless and wild, which are all things Teddy loves about him. He keeps Teddy young, counterbalancing the way he can often be a little too serious or in his head. But there are times, like today, when his recklessness is a little too much for Teddy, and if that makes him a little needlessly clingy, then so be it.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he hears a _crack_ in the sitting room, and Teddy emerges from the kitchen where he’s been charming the dishes to clean themselves. James has changed out of his quidditch kit, Teddy’s favourite joggers slung low on his hips, and he’s looking up at Teddy with a sheepish grin.

“Hi,” James says softly, calmer now that they’re in the quiet of their home together.

“Finished with your adoring public?” Teddy asks, crossing the room to him and reaching out for a hand to pull him close.

“Yeah,” James says, letting himself be pulled into Teddy’s arms.

“My turn.” Teddy leans in for another kiss, humming softly into it as he feels James’s arms wind around his neck to keep him there.

It’s easy as breathing to get lost in James now that there’s no cameras pointed at them or screaming fans in the background. But he can’t quite forget his worries, and like always, James picks up on even the slightest difference between his usual calm, relaxed nature and whatever is going on in his head now.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” He asks in the intimate space between their faces, and Teddy lets out a soft sigh, his hands smoothing up James’s back and making him shiver a little.

“You didn’t see that match from the stands,” he says, his voice a little lower and darker.

He steps back to put a little space between them so he can start to really look at James and assess whatever aches and pains he might be feeling. He knows the team mediwitch will have given all the players a thorough assessment before releasing them, but he can’t help but want to be sure himself. James can have all the fancy healers and mediwitches in the world and it won’t stop Teddy from worrying over him until he knows for sure he’s okay.

“Ted, I’m fine,” James insists, but Teddy’s hands start to gently slide over his torso and it makes him gasp breathlessly.

Teddy rubs a thumb over a bruise he can see blooming just under James’s chin, a soft noise of disapproval slipping past his lips. His eyes catch on another one he can see peeking out from under the collar of James’s shirt, and he pulls it aside so he can lean down and press a gentle kiss to it. James lets out a quiet whine.

It’s not always like this, sometimes it’s all Teddy can do to pull James’s clothes off and get his hands and his mouth all over him, seeming to always know when what James needs after a match, whether it’s dropping to his knees the second he gets James alone, or carrying him to their bedroom to tease him until he begs. 

Later, Teddy will want to do all of those things. But right now, what he really wants is to see every bit of James’s skin, familiarize himself with every bump and scrape from tonight’s match, and reassure himself that beyond those, James isn’t injured, _James is okay_.

“C’mon, you need a shower,” Teddy says, letting go of most of James save for his hand so he can pull him with him to the bathroom. And James goes easily, already dreaming about the hot water for his aching muscles, and a naked Teddy to rub the aches out of them.

Once there, Teddy reaches in to turn on the hot water, just as James grips the hem of his own shirt and starts to pull it up, but Teddy turns back and stills him.

“No, let me,” he says, and James immediately drops his hands. There’s a slight edge to Teddy’s voice that he isn’t consciously aware of. What Teddy needs most right now is the same thing James does—to take care of him. The adrenaline from the match has mostly worn off by this point, and it’s easy to see the exhaustion he feels down to his bones. He easily cedes control over to Teddy, letting him take care of him

James so often acts like nothing gets to him, nothing hurts him and he can handle everything the world wants to hurl his way. Maybe he’s got the cameras and the papers fooled, but not Teddy. And James doesn’t really ever say it out loud, but he doesn’t have to—Teddy knows what he needs sometimes is a little tender, loving care.

Teddy’s hands replace James’s, tugging on the bottom of his shirt and gently up and over his head. It’s easy to see the effect the match has had, his upper body a patchwork of red marks and scrapes and slowly forming bruises, plus an angry red welt that’s unmistakably from a too-close run-in with a bludger, among the sweat and grime from a match well-played.

“Oh, Jamie,” Teddy breathes, his hands sliding gently over his chest and along down his abdomen, feeling the spots where the surface of his skin is warm from healing.

“You know I bruise like a peach,” James says, but his voice is soft and dream-like—Teddy’s touch like a balm, and he sighs out a soft moan as his big, warm hands trace the small injuries on his body.

“That’s not the point.” Teddy stops when he gets to the hem of James’s joggers, pulling them down James’s legs gently. He gasps softly at the marks that also cover his legs, less than on his upper body, but still enough to make Teddy want to wrap James up in his arms and never let him play in a match again.

But those are irrational thoughts, because he’d never stand in the way of James’s dreams, even if they cause him worry sometimes.

James starts to shiver once most of his clothes are off, the combination of worn-off adrenaline and sweat making him cold despite the shower making the bathroom humid and steamy. And Teddy notices, so he finishes undressing him, then quickly pulls his own clothes off too and drags James into the shower.

James lets out a soft sigh of relief at the rush of hot water running down his body once Teddy positions him under the warm spray. Teddy comes up behind him, and leans down to press a soft kiss to the back of James’s neck.

Teddy lets him just linger under the hot water for a few minutes, warm enough with the steam coming off of the spray. Teddy knows James likes his showers too hot for anyone else to handle, much like himself, Teddy thinks. Too hot for anyone but Teddy to handle. Once he stops shivering, Teddy turns James in his arms to he can lean his head back and finish getting his hair wet, then reaching for the shampoo before James can.

He pours some into his hand, and pulls James back out from under the water so he can start to massage it into his hair. James is perfectly capable of washing his own hair, of course, but they both know that isn’t what this is about. Teddy needs to take care of him, even if it’s something as mundane as showering, if only to assure himself that James is still okay, still here, still _his_.

So Teddy washes James’s hair, massaging shampoo into his scalp, and James makes a soft, disappointed noise when he has to step back to wash it out. Teddy has soft healer’s hands, and he knows James. He knows how to touch and knead just hard enough to make it feel like a massage more than a wash.

Teddy doesn’t make him wait long for more though, turning him back around and reaching for the soap to start washing his body. He gasps a little at the sight of James’s back, not realizing that a lot more of scrapes and bruises ended up here, and he coos softly at the sight of them. He has to remind himself that James isn’t injured, not really, but he still hates to see the way all those hits and near-misses have marred his skin.

He starts at James’s shoulders, washing over them with the lavender soap they share, and the combination of the scent and Teddy’s deft fingers massaging his sore muscles has James sagging a little, more and more relaxed with every pass of his hands.

By the time Teddy’s fingers are massaging soap into his lower back, James is practically panting, leaning back into Teddy’s touches and making soft little noises of pleasure. He’s hard too, his cock pressing against his stomach and leaking a little from the tip, though the shower continually washes away the evidence. It’s impossible to _not_ be turned on when Teddy’s hands are all over him like this, warm and skilled as they press into his skin.

Teddy reaches for more soap, but instead of turning James around again, he steps in to press himself against James’s back, and James lets out a soft whimper as he can feel Teddy half-hard too, pressing up against his arse. But Teddy pays it no mind, entirely focused on James as he starts to slide his soap-slick hands along James’s abdomen, his hands moving in slow circles to wash him.

He starts to move them up his body at a glacial pace, feeling the hitches in James’s breath as he washes over his stomach, and then up to his chest where his thumbs start to massage the soft nubs of his nipples.

James relaxes back against him, moaning and letting his head fall back onto Teddy’s shoulder. Teddy keeps going, rubbing circles with his thumbs until James’s nipples are hard and red, and he’s is letting out a long string of moans and whimpers. Teddy presses kisses into his neck as he does, careful to keep his own face out of the spray.

James cries out when it becomes too much, when Teddy knows his fingers are twitching at his sides with the need to get a hand on his cock. They both know he won’t though, because it’s Teddy he wants, and his long, talented fingers wrapping around his cock.

Teddy doesn’t make him wait long, sliding his hands back down James’s body to tug at the line of dark hair leading down his abdomen, barely brushing the top of his cock, and James practically _keens_.

“Please, Teddy,” he whimpers. There’s nothing Teddy loves more than the sound of James begging for him, and despite the fact that James is at Teddy’s mercy right now, there’s nothing Teddy would deny the man he loves.

Finally, Teddy wraps a hand around James’s cock, whispering an incantation for more soap into his ear so that when he gives James the first slow, teasing stroke, his hand slides easily over him. James lets out another moan, bucking his hips up into the touch a little, but Teddy keeps his first few strokes maddeningly slow anyway.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he whispers into his ear, and James rewards him with a desperate whimper, his eyes squeezing shut with the effort not to beg again.

Teddy keeps at that pace until he feels James go boneless against him again, relaxing, _giving in_ , before he finally starts to move his hand a little quicker over his cock. He strokes him from root to tip, twisting around the tip of him with every pass, making James gasp out little breathless whines.

James is so keyed up and needy that they both know this won’t last long, but Teddy doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about much right now except making James feel good, drawing more of those noises out of him that Teddy knows are just for him. No one else gets to see James like this, no one else gets to take care of him like Teddy does. And it gives Teddy a thrill the way it never fails to, to know that when James comes, it’ll be because of something Teddy’s doing to him.

He tightens his fingers around James’s cock, his thumb rubbing into the steadily leaking slit at the tip and making James rut up into his touch.

“You gonna come, Jamie?” he breathes into his ear, teeth catching lightly around his earlobe. James doesn’t seem to be able to speak, instead whining under his breath while nodding furiously, and that’s how Teddy knows he is—James loses all ability to speak only when he’s just a hairsbreadth away from coming.

Teddy’s other hand slides down to cup around his arse and _squeeze_ , and James cries out as he starts to come. He falls beautifully and spectacularly over the edge with babbling moans of _yes_ and _please_ and _fuck, Teddy_ , spilling over Teddy’s fist and up onto his stomach. Teddy keeps stroking him through it, his loud moans slowly dying down to soft whines. 

Teddy’s hand slows too, but he keeps going even after James whimpers, his body shaking at the overstimulation. He doesn’t reach out to stop Teddy, though. Finally when he feels James growing soft in his hand, he finally lets go, his hands resting on James’s hips as he presses another gentle kiss to his neck, just under his ear.

The shower does a well-enough job at washing away the mess, but Teddy washes him again anyway; he’d be crazy not to want another excuse to keeps his hands sliding over James’s gorgeous skin. He minds and makes sure he’s tender with all the injured spots, filing them away in his brain to check on them in the morning to make sure they don’t get worse.

He leans down to wash off James’s thighs and calves too, rubbing soap into them and skillfully kneading his sore muscles. James sighs pleasurably, though even that small sound is sleepy and euphoric, and Teddy smiles. There’s nothing cuter than a sleepy James.

Once he’s done, Teddy reaches around James to turn the water off, and James turns to open the door so they can both step out. Teddy wraps him up in a big, fluffy towel, charmed to stay warm, and James burrows into it, a soft, exhausted smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he says softly, and Teddy hums in response and leans in for a kiss.

Neither of them bother with clothes, moving into the bedroom with towel-dried hair and warm skin all on display, curling up in their big bed together. When James has his chin resting on Teddy’s chest, Teddy idly running his fingers through his damp curls, he asks “what about you?”

“You can make it up to me tomorrow.”

James certainly does.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you'd like to chat and cry more about these beautiful idiots, you can find me on tumblr @ [valryon](https://valryon.tumblr.com/).


End file.
